


Vode An

by DuplexBeGreat



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abstract, Canon Retelling, Characters left deliberately unnamed, Gen, Griffin Rock Prompt: First Impressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 16:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuplexBeGreat/pseuds/DuplexBeGreat
Summary: Entry into the Griffin Rock writing prompt "First Impressions." Depicts multiple canon first impressions from over the course of the IDW Generation 1 continuity, with the characters' identities left deliberately unrevealed.





	Vode An

_ Clang. _

Steel meets steel. _ Combat_, in its purest form, devoid of any motive or prize beyond victory itself. As their _ danse macabre _ whirls through Protohex, blow matching blow, each of the belligerents glances about the clutter, reflexively noting which of the many fallen bodies was rendered so by his hand. Another will join their ranks today; one shall—one _ must _ fall so that the other can stand.

Neither would begrudge the other his further days in the light. But neither will either pardon the other even a single martial mistake. Folly means death. _ One will fall_.

And indeed one does, his techniques overpowered and his weapon knocked aside and his footing lost. The geminus falls, and above him the other stands victorious, uneasy and uncharacteristically hesitant. Though he does not know it, this one will someday come to question far more than victory—his purpose, his allegiance, his very self will be placed in doubt. But for now, he has won, and though his hand is stayed (by a feeling he knows and names but understands is irrelevant), his supremacy means certain oblivion for the contender lying fallen at his feet. Mercy flees.

They have met for the first time, and now one will die, equally as proud and naively hardened as his opponent.

Who can say what would have happened if the Darklander had not intervened? Perhaps the victor would have felt compassive defiance pulse deep in his spark, banishing prior convictions, and helped the other to his feet. Perhaps together they would have used their prodigious strength to sweep away Septimus’s noxious ministry and erect their own filial dominion in its place. Perhaps, in a terrifying moment of arrogance that, we all know, would have altered the currents of history forever, they might even have declared themselves Primes.

Or perhaps the imposter would have meekly accepted his victory and completed the execution as expected. _ Who can say? _ Only the one who had to make the choice, of course. None but he knew what answer might have surfaced from the turmoil to become action—and that person no longer exists to be questioned.

And who can say if Cybertron, the galaxy, or Earth would truly have suffered less if the geminus had indeed died on that day? None bar none. Such a fiction is beyond even Trion’s abilities to weave.

* * *

Sparks fly in overworn tunnels beneath the surface of a tired-out world.

The conflict is meaningless and better ignored. Its combatants are wasting more time than their own. Whatever prize either party desires will ultimately serve no purpose in the grand cosmic order. Each warrior present is capable of so much more than this embarrassing display, deserves so much better than to be judged for this subpar tableau.

And one of them is _ Scourge_.

In short, it is an encounter utterly devoid of artistry, purpose, or—amusingly—_heart_. Whether any of the perpetrators ever bothered to recall this skirmish, years on, is severely in doubt. But it is a meeting nonetheless.

The planet’s tenant strikes the first blow, and their target is summarily toppled. A cordial exchange of blasterfire has punted him to death’s door with bewildering ease. Question it not.

Rejuvenation commences shortly afterward. Upon its completion the unlikely victim finds himself lionized, invigorated, dynamically empowered! His mechanical form surges with intense strength, his cannon hums in anticipation of approaching victory, his very essence emerges from the crucible baptized anew. Or, at least, that’s what we are told has happened. He doesn’t actually _ look _ any different.

In short order the onslaught reorients. Now the aggressors are in peril. Our focus at once dubs their galvanized foe a _ monster_… then flees.

They have met for the first time, and neither will consider it of much significance.

* * *

An alliance emerges between Autobot and Decepticon. An Autobot who was held prisoner by the Autobots allies with a Decepticon who fought against the Decepticons for the sake of defeating the Decepticons who fight alongside the Autobots and their leader, an Autobot. Faction, once nonexistent in the face of planetwide fraction, means almost as little now as it did then, refracted through countless personal factors and creating new _ de facto _ subfactions from the resulting internecine friction.

Don’t you see? Friends can become enemies, nemeses can become _ heroes_. Nothing _ means _ anything anymore. Prowl’s betraying everyone in sight and even he doesn’t have any clue what’s going on.

So yes, they ally, both knowing well how much betrayal to expect, and accordingly handling the fallout with relative grace. Neither loses, so it could be argued both win. Certainly their mutual foe is hindered by their combined efforts, and is prevented from achieving his goal, granting their partnership the legitimacy of success. But then we have to consider that the outcome of this conflict _ does _ directly foster his ability to enact further plots and wreak devastation in much the same way that our heroes—accept the word for the time being—have tried to prevent. Perhaps he wins too. _ Everyone _ wins and no one loses, and any imagined _ sides _ remain murky and ill-defined.

Accept it. Faction means nothing. These two met for the first time, and they agreed to work together against a heterogeneous enemy in a skirmish where virtually every single ‘bot or ‘con on the field had their own agenda, to say nothing of the avowed neutrals. Then they went their separate ways, and before long they’ll be trying to kill each other.

* * *

Three meetings.

They meet for the first time, and not long afterwards rendezvous twice more. From the start they are without pretense, barbs clearly shown. They _ laugh _ about how stark their opposition is, belittle their own allies in venomous camaraderie. Neither misses a verbal beat, and they’re able to end the transaction without opening hostilities. Each believes they’ve advanced their own agenda. Neither lingers on the momentary gaffe just before they part. Seemingly neither would wish to, though whether both are truly discomfited by it is hard to say. One may consider it of less importance than the other.

The second time they cross paths is more… _ incendiary_. The discourse is conducted through an exchange of blows as much as of words. There are no gains here, and quite clearly no losses either. The purpose may have been the satisfaction of curiosity, a ritualistic stab at parley, or something else entirely. Perhaps they were just letting off steam. In any case, this much is made clear: They regret nothing.

The third encounter ends with one dead.

* * *

There is a word in Ancient Cybertronian: _ vod_. Its most common translation is _ brother_, but this does not represent everything that the word means. The proper use of _ vod _ is in reference to a fellow warrior on the battlefield.

From the gladiatorial arena of ancient Protohex to the subterranean caverns of Gorlam Prime to the Onyx facility in Wanmu, from swamps to volcanoes to clouds of gas, from Cybertron to Earth to Jupiter, they were always warriors. They fought alongside each other, against each other, on opposing teams and on no one’s side but their own. The rules of engagement and the weapons of the era were ever in flux, but nothing changed as much as the bots themselves. **Thus was ** ** _every_ ** ** meeting their first, for Arcee and Galvatron never clashed the same way twice across all their encounters.**

_ Vod _ most literally means brother, but more properly it refers to a _ comrade-in-arms_. Those who fight alongside each other are _ vode_. And this the twins remained throughout all the eons, for despite their enmity—the lethality with which their conversations were conducted—they fought _ together_. It simply happened to be against each other that they fought.

_ Vode _ can refer to brothers. It can refer to fellow warriors. For Arcee and Galvatron, both of these uses came to pass; across eternity they were _ vode an_—brothers all. But there is a third detail of its translation that is often overlooked. The term _ vod _ is gender-neutral. It is rendered most often as _ brother _ because most Cybertronians happen to be male.

But it can mean _ sister_, too.

**Author's Note:**

> It's actually Mando'a, not Ancient Cybertronian. I'd previously used a Mando'a song as a stand-in for Ancient Cybertronian during a live reading of More Than Meets The Eye issue #13, so when I wanted to write this and remembered the phrase, it just fit and I couldn't resist using it again.
> 
> Link to Griffin Rock, a Transformers discussion server that hosted this writing prompt: https://discord.gg/PpZgnh9


End file.
